Lennon

Chapter One

            Nothing beats an almost home cooked meal, especially when I've been living off of McDonald’s Happy Meals for the past few days. A small laugh erupts out from Maeve's lips, creating lopsided butterflies to overfill my stomach. Do I really look that desperate?

            "I'll just take the Grand Slam with some orange juice, please," I tell her as fast as I can. Handing her the menu back, I try to keep my cool. No one was some random lady in her late forties was going to get to my head - no way would I ever let that happen.

            The aging woman disappears without a word, off to cook my afternoon breakfast. Sitting there a couple feet away from the kitchen and trying not to think too hard, the delicious aroma hit me full on. It’s only been since last night that I ate, but from the roar of my stomach you would think I haven't ate in years. The smell of fried eggs and bacon baked to a crisp is enough to make my mouth water. Sausages dipped into the heavenly smell of pancake syrup make my stomach compete in a screaming match.

            God, I need some food.

            "You hate the bell, too?" The guy next to me asks, completely out of the blue.

            He looks friendly enough not to be a serial killer or some kind of sick rapist. His brown hair is getting a bit too long and bushy, practically begging to be cut off. The jeans and clean t-shirt are common enough, so nothing about him sticks out from the crowd.  He has a nice smile, radiating genuine niceness. I'm usually one too caught up in my thoughts to admit stuff like this, but he was one fine grown man. Well, for a thirty-something used-to-be-in-rock-band kind of dad, that is.

            My dad always warned me about stranger danger, so I know better than striking up a conversation with this man. However, nothing my dad ever told me turned out to be the truth, so why should I start listening to his advice now? The worst that can happen if that I do, which isn’t the worst of options.

            "How did you know that?"

            I'll admit that it is a bit creepy that he picked up on that. Oh God, which means that he's been watching me ever since I opened the door and the bell went off. It only makes my point that nothing good even comes out of the idiotic bells even truer.

            "As soon as we heard that loud engine of yours pull up, we all knew you weren't from around here. You should have seen your face when you walked through the door; it was priceless," he promptly erupts into a fit of laughter.

            What a lovely first impression to make.

            "I'm Troye Sullivan," he says once he collects himself.

            I stare at his outstretched arm for a few prolong moments, not sure whether or not to shake it. On one hand, he's a nice man who seems as friendly as can be. On the opposite hand, he's a jerk who laughs at the annoyed face of a teenager, er, young adult.

            If I don't greet the stranger with a proper handshake like I know I should, I'll come off rude. With me not being from around here, especially, it's important that I don't make them completely hate me. I can't stand it when people don't like me, even if I will never have to see their faces ever again.

            "Lennon Carter," I accept his handshake, after a few awkward heartbeats.

            The moment ends and I'm back to studying the retro interior of Denny's. There's so much silver and red with racer checkers everywhere, I think I died and went to tacky heaven. The ticking of the clock from wherever it hides away out from my view is louder than everything else in the place, oddly enough.